


War Drums Echo

by Metallic_Sweet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: (grafting fruit trees), Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Epistolary, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Friendship/Love, Gen, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Moral Ambiguity, Post-Canon, Tea Parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-07
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 17:00:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29904228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Metallic_Sweet/pseuds/Metallic_Sweet
Summary: During the Great Tree Moon 1190, Hubert and Ferdinand have to face a few major issues in their relationship. Or so their friends think.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Petra Macneary/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	War Drums Echo

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains non-graphic discussion of the battlefield death of Flayn and depicts in memory the death of Thales.

_Letter from Queen Petra Macneary of Brigid to Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, dated 2 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    Dear Ferdinand,

    This is a personal letter which may or may not precede your birthday celebration. I hope you remember to celebrate for yourself as well as for Hubert, and I hope that you have a wonderful time with your favourite tea. I will not tell you to take the day off because we are well-aware that is not something that will happen. 

    I wished to share with you some events here in Brigid. My grandfather is enjoying his retirement and has begun work on a garden of medicinal herbs with the new greenhouse we have built. He speaks to me about the garden with a passion I have not seen in him since I returned, and I am glad. I suspect if he did not develop this passion, he would wither. We all must have goals, and my grandfather is a man who has never known the concept of “free time” and therefore cannot abide by it. 

    On a personal level, I have been writing regularly with Ignatz, of whom you know I am fond. He told me that his family’s company has fully begun to demilitarise in accordance with the new military groups and battalions regulations. He is very eager for this (although his family is perhaps not) because he has given me a promise: once the company is fully civilian, he will come to me in Brigid. I am over the moon!

    I wanted to tell you first because it is only a promise; I do not want to tell Hubert or Edelgard yet because they enjoy absolutes and there is flexibility in these terms. I also know that you still pray in your own way, and I wish to implore you to pray for a happy and smooth reunion between Ignatz and I. There are mystic things in this world that no one truly understands, and I believe that a little bit of personal faith goes a long way. Perhaps that will be the most lasting influence of Garreg Mach and the Professor upon me. 

    Again, happy birthday, Ferdinand, and I hope this letter finds you very well.

    Your friend,  
Petra

It is raining. 

“Hubert.”

Hubert looks up from the letter on his writing desk to Ferdinand, who stands at the high windows. He looks out through the slats, although Hubert, whose sight is not as good as Ferdinand’s, cannot guess what he may see. 

“Yes?”

The renovations to Enbarr’s castle necessitated new windows, practical glass pieces that open through horizontal slats to replace the ancient and cracked stained glass. From an aesthetic point of view, these windows are not as beautiful as the old ones, but they are more practical, especially for helping the castle breath in the humid spring weather. 

“Do you ever think about Flayn?” 

Hubert pauses. Not long but enough that it is noticeable. Ferdinand’s eyebrows scrunch slightly. Hubert licks his lips. 

“Flayn?” 

Ferdinand does not respond immediately. In the mid-summer deluge, he wears only his shirtsleeves and drawers. He finds the humidity stifling, and, in the privacy of their rooms, he wears little except to remain decent enough to not be distracting while Hubert still has work. In the early evening lamplight, Hubert watches a trickle of sweat from the leg of his drawers curve over the back of his right knee.

“Yes.” Ferdinand does not look at Hubert; the progress of the bead of sweat continues onto his calf. “She was sweet and had the same green hair the Professor once did.”

Hubert sets his pen onto the blotter. It is still mostly full of ink and will leak. He pushes himself and his chair back from the desk. Stands up. He crosses the short space to Ferdinand, who continues his observation through the window slats. Hubert takes his handkerchief from his vest pocket. He reaches up and wipes sweat from where Ferdinand’s neck meets his shirt’s loose collar. 

“You killed her.” 

Ferdinand does not blink. His eyes track something that Hubert does not attempt to see. He allows Hubert to wipe his neck and lean forward to press a kiss to the curve of his jaw. It is only once Hubert’s nose nuzzles against his cheek that Ferdinand breathes out. A sigh. 

“I did, didn’t I.” 

Hubert rests his forehead against the side of Ferdinand’s head. His hair smells of the rose oil he combs through after a bath. It is not a strong smell. It mixes with the musk of sweat. 

Outside, the rain splatters against the cobblestones.

It sounds like distant war drums.

_Letter from Countess Bernadetta von Varley to Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, dated 14 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    Dearest Ferdinand,

    I appreciated your letter following my father’s passing. I apologise for not responding earlier, but you know well how much trouble there is after one’s father dies. Inheritance aside, Mother was back in Varley for too long. We have more fondness between ourselves, but she is still Mother.

    I would implore you not to apologise for your tone. Between you and Hubert (and Edelgard, too, but please do not tell her for she still frightens me more than a little bit), I like to hear your honest words because you offer them to me with great consideration rather than careful and obfuscating politeness. As the years go by, I care less and less for kindness if it covers up more than it reveals. 

    Between you and I, my father’s death is perhaps the greatest relief I have ever experienced, even more than the end of our war—both of them, but particularly the public one when the Professor nearly died. The past year that I have overseen his care has been trying at best, and I am only sad that he is gone because now I must be Countess, at least until I can either divest my territory without undue strain upon Adrestia’s stability or find a means of stomaching the whole responsibility of my Issue. I know you are hard at work regarding the overhaul of noble privilege, and I cannot say at this time how I feel beyond my instincts. Perhaps in a few months, we may converse deeper on this because I do not want to cause more disappointment and trouble than I already do. 

    But back to your letter: I wanted to write to you about your offer of assistance. Thank you so very much for such a generous offer as I know how busy you are. I am meager at speaking to people, and I fear that the people of Varley will suffer if I do not get a handle upon mercantile negotiations in particular. These are places my father allowed me little understanding and knowledge of, and I believe you are right to bring up your own responsibility in Hyrm as a point of comparison. Once I understand more of what I have inherited, I will reach out to you again.

    I do wish to add that you may do the same with me. I am not comfortable traveling, and I do not wish to see more bloodshed, but if it is necessary—if you have any need for me—then I will be at your side. Please consider my offer as you are my friend first and foremost.

    Yours,  
Bernie

Hubert was, at the heart of it, bred for violence. 

He knew this from an early age. His parents taught him how to fight and kill, and they taught him even more strictly that he should act as preemptively and efficiently as possible. When Edelgard was taken and he tried to give chase, he put everything he had been taught into practice. His father wasn’t pleased with him giving chase, but he was only nominally punished for the transgression. A week with only gruel and a light beating. The men he killed in his desperate pursuit were never mentioned again. 

He is fundamentally different from Ferdinand. Fighting and, as a byproduct, killing for Ferdinand always serves a purpose beyond an Emperor or singular entity. Ferdinand kills in the same manner that he fights: he believes it is the best decision, and he does not attempt to justify his actions beyond himself and a predetermined purpose. 

“It is what makes us different,” Ferdinand says as Hubert works his fingers along his scalp, massaging away the tension of the day. “I would not relish killing for sport like Jeritza, but, unlike you, I understand why some do. If we boil everything down, I must face the bald fact that I do not fight for anyone else but myself.”

“Your noble values,” Hubert murmurs as he strokes his fingers firmly over the crown of Ferdinand’s head. 

“They are not noble,” Ferdinand says, mild and relaxed; his back is pliant against Hubert’s chest. “I would hesitate to call them values because that would mean I have conscious thoughts like this while engaged in combat. I do not. It is just me.” 

Hubert, hands cupped around the sides of Ferdinand’s head, knows in that moment they are meant for each other. 

_Letter from Dorothea Arnault to Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, dated 19 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    My Ferdie,

    As you are likely aware, I had an argument with our Hubie during his otherwise wonderful birthday dinner that you and El put so much effort into hosting. This letter is not to ask you to make amends between us as I will try that myself; I also do not wish to place you in a more difficult position than you already are. I know that you and Hubie maintain your relationship in private with a delicate balance, and I would never wish to put your heart at risk. 

    This letter is to clarify what Hubie may have shared with you because I do not want to backtrack in our friendship. I feel strongly I wasted so much of your goodwill due to my youthful misunderstanding, and, because I am a prideful person, I recognise well that you are, too. The words that Hubie might have shared with you would be hurtful even with what context he might provide. 

    For the past couple of years, I have had much to reflect upon, especially since we reopened the Opera. I am now as old as Manuela was when she left to become a teacher. While our circumstances are vastly different, I do feel a little troubled—less with my age and more with the sense that time has passed me by, devoured by the war that is the bookend on our youth and nearly all of our adulthood. I feel both mature and immature, and I wonder if I will ever be able to connect with people who do not share the same secret knowledge as us. 

    I know this bothers you. You do not say it, but I can see it in your eyes and actions (or lack of them) sometimes. Hubert does not understand, and that is why we argued. I believe he misinterpreted my uncertainties for regret and guilt because he is someone who has never had room for either. I worry that sometimes you being with him disallows you opportunities to express yourself, and I fear it is making you sad in the manner we know is poisonous. 

    But, between you and I—and you may take offense at this, if I am overstepping—, you have been sad for a while. I support you and Hubie because I see how happy he makes you. When he enters the room or joins you in the gardens or argues with you at court, you talk more, and your expressions fit better on your face. I believe Hubert took offense so strongly at my words because he doesn’t understand what he does for you, and perhaps you cannot see it either. You are a person, Ferdie, who is good at everyone except yourself. 

    Reading back over this, I suppose this is a very long-winded letter to tell you that I am concerned for you and for Hubie. You two are among the small group of people whom I care for the most in this world, and I truly want only your greatest happiness. I wished to urge Hubie to speak with you, but I should have gone straight to you as I know you crave honesty and transparency most of all. For that, you have my apologies. I hope this letter reaches you well before your upcoming birthday. I promise I do have a cheerful note for you then.

    Love and affection,  
Dorothea

What no one understands and likely never will: 

At the end of the war, standing in the ruins of Shambhala, Hubert watched Ferdinand walk over to Thales, who had been partially crushed by a falling beam. The ancient creature was not dead, but he would soon be as he coughed and choked up strange, unfamiliar blood. Hubert stood still just behind Edelgard and Byleth as Ferdinand bent down and used his fingers to clear Thales’ mouth of his own bodily fluids. 

“Hah,” Thales croaked, and he spat on Ferdinand’s already soiled right gauntlet. “Are you trying to show me mercy?” 

“No,” Ferdinand said, and he stayed upon one knee by Thales’ head. “I am here to make certain you are dead. I find it distasteful to watch you choke to death because it is more than you deserve.” 

Thales looked at Ferdinand. There was an expression there, but it was unreadable. Hubert had always had difficulty understanding the expression of Agatharans and had consciously copied their inscrutability to be better at his own place beside Edelgard. It did not mean he understood them any better. Understanding beings so abhorrent had never been Hubert’s goal. 

Ferdinand’s expression was more familiar. It reminded Hubert of the statues that still stood whole and tall in Garreg Mach’s Cathedral. It brought no comfort and no recourse.

“There is no one to come and help you,” Ferdinand said as Byleth and Edelgard turned away, ready to begin the clean up of the battle; they did not motion for Hubert to follow them; Hubert would never know what their thoughts were on this memory. “Your body is not made to last or to live on its own. I think you always knew your fight was futile.” 

Thales stares at Ferdinand. He is still alive, but it doesn’t seem he has the strength to speak or plead or affect his own end in any particular way. Ferdinand gazes down upon him, remote and untouchable. Thales bleeds out as Hubert stands vigil. 

Their eyes are watching God. 

_Letter from Margrave Marianne von Edmund to Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, dated 23 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    Dear Ferdinand,

    I received your letter this morning and felt that I must respond to it immediately. I have not heard you voice your thoughts with such uncertainty before. I have to admit that I was reminded of myself when we reconnected following the Millennium Festival. I also remembered your kind, insightful words to me. 

    You expressed upset at your recent conversations, and you said that you felt that you had strayed somehow although you couldn’t put into exact language how this is. From what I gather, you have had many long and difficult conversations, and Hubert is not always emotionally available to you. He and Edelgard view things still in absolutes, and you are being careful not to generate unnecessary uncertainty. This puts a great burden upon you, and others notice, although they do not understand or they have their own concerns to occupy themselves. 

    I feel for you. No one is an island entire of itself. You helped me understand that, and you have always been candid and kind with me. You are hurting, although not in a way that is obvious. If it was obvious, Hubert would have already addressed it for you, and perhaps he has, although not in a way that fixes it. We both know none of us are gentle or warm people any longer, and, perhaps, we lacked the capacity to be such people in the first place.

    As Fódlan becomes more stable, I agree that you should be outside of Enbarr and Aegir more often. You should travel to Brigid and visit Petra and Ignatz. You should go to Varley and even back to Garreg Mach. I would be pleased to host you here in Edmund and show you the lovely riding and walking trails in our sparse good weather. I understand well the disconnect and loneliness you feel; those feelings in me are only assuaged when I am working at the animal clinic among fellow healers and our animals. 

    I wholeheartedly believe that you should be candid with Hubert. The two of you love each other in a manner that I have never seen elsewhere, even in our high tales. Hubert’s heart is not so cold that he would deny you your continued health and happiness. I am certain he would understand that you need the sun as well as the rain to be the Ferdinand we know and love. You thrive on growth and change. It would benefit all of us to have you evolve your position in a manner that will bring you more joy. 

    I wish to share tea with you soon and exchange some of my cooking for your baking. Please let me know what you are craving. 

    Your friend (also wishing you a happy early birthday),  
Marianne

Building the new Fódlan is an exercise in self-reflection as much as in patience and hardwork. 

It is different from war. It is different from espionage. It is different, Hubert is forced to admit, from anything he was ever trained for because he was trained to be a servant, and that was the part he was happy to play. He would be the highest ranking servant in Adrestia, always at Edelgard’s beck and call, and he had lived his life through the war and the secret pursuit of Those Who Slither in the Dark with the determination to fulfil his purpose better than anyone else. In the Fódlan that they destroyed, Hubert would never have had to question this order of things. 

It is humbling to realise, as dawn becomes morning and Fódlan still stands, he never expected to be more, but he needs to be. Edelgard needs him to fulfil his role as Minister of the Imperial Household, but in a capacity that serves the citizens of Fódlan rather than her first and foremost. Hubert has to admit some shame to how ambivalent he feels. It is not that he lacks care for the citizenry. It is more that he is not passionate enough about peacetime as he was about everything that came before. 

It is why, at the very deep and dark heart of everything, Hubert has become so protective of Ferdinand. They don’t speak of it, but Ferdinand knows that Hubert watches him with an attentiveness that did not apply prior to the defeat of Those Who Slithered in the Dark. He lets Hubert have this comfort, although it does not always please him, because he understands in his own way. They are both very aware how little their friends, particularly those who are a bit closer to Ferdinand than Hubert, dislike it. 

Hubert is no fool. 

“I will have to let you go beyond my purview, if we are to accomplish our goals and ambitions.”

In the privacy of their bed, Ferdinand lies naked, covered only across his chest and stomach with a light cotton blanket folded in half. His hair, which has grown very long, is tucked aside and braided. It lays between Hubert and himself. 

“Will that trouble you?” 

Hubert watches his face. Ferdinand is only a couple years younger than Hubert, but, as the years go by, his better lifestyle and general dedication to the upkeep of his health shows. Wrinkles have not yet begun to form by his eyes or over his forehead, and his lips are still as full as they were when they first met. The changes to his face are the loss of what little had lingered of youthful roundness at the beginning of their academy days, the meager fat stores eaten up to form muscle and settle bones. Compared to Ferdinand, who grew into a man blessed in his appearances, Hubert is as he has always been: thin, sharp in all features, and uncomely. 

Sensing his thoughts, Ferdinand’s lips twitch. The smile that graces his lips and the soft touch of his fingers to Hubert’s bare chest are far from kind. They are entirely honest.

“You are a jealous, possessive man, aren’t you, Minister?” 

Hubert rolls onto his stomach. He wraps an arm around Ferdinand’s waist, wrinkling and bunching the blanket. Everything is firm and not at all sharp.

“I am.” 

“Well,” Ferdinand murmurs, very pleased as Hubert presses a kiss to his collarbone, “I hope that I continue to make you very jealous. You must know that it encourages improvement to my general well-being when your eyes are only upon me. It relieves me of much work because those who would be difficult towards me think twice because they know they will attract your ire.

“But,” he sighs as Hubert presses kisses to the side of his neck, “I should also work hard. It pleases me to have challenges, and I do grow a little bored of only getting such things from breaking in horses and wyverns.” 

“I enjoy watching you working your crops and whips,” Hubert confesses against the shell of Ferdinand’s ear. 

Ferdinand pinches Hubert in the soft flesh of his belly. In retaliation, Hubert nips Ferdinand’s earlobe. All it does is earn him a laugh and a harder pinch with a bit of nail. 

“Do not worry,” Ferdinand says as Hubert lets him roll them over; he looks down at Hubert with a wicked grin. “When I am again in your sights, I will think of nothing but you until you are beneath my hands.” 

“Your power, you mean,” Hubert teases.

Ferdinand laughs, mischievous and very humoured, and descends. 

_Letter from Duke Ferdinand von Aegir to Marquis Hubert von Vestra, dated 26 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    My dearest Hubert,

    You know all of my secrets. You know what I have done, why I have done it, and why I keep my peace. You are right in so many ways that no one else will understand because I am like you in one critical sense: I do not leave anything of myself behind because there is nothing of me to leave. Whatever there is of Ferdinand von Aegir, all of me is needed to move forward. So, relentlessly and with all of my determination, I leave the past behind me along with the dead contained in it. 

    Most people do not understand that the past is not the same as memory and memorials. In particular, memorials may be built, but they are things for the living in the present, and the meanings those present attach to them may change in the future. I care little for the contemporary sentimentality of memorialisation or public performance of joy or grief because it is not how I relate to my life. I only wish to focus upon my purpose and what I may do now to foster and fertilise the opportunities of the future. 

    Still, I am not immune to memory. I think sometimes of the stories my father read me when I was very, very young. My father was not always present in my life (and even less so in death), but he liked to read me stories when I was in nursery and very early boyhood. I liked that he would read to me, even though he smelled of the smoke and drink of the day, and his stories were unique, if not always age appropriate. He told me a lot about his academy days and before he became Duke and Prime Minister. I think those were the happiest times for him before marriage, responsibilities, and ultimate temptations. 

    I will never have such memories to turn into nursery stories. As you and I have discussed, we do not intend to adopt children. Even so, I would not tell stories of our academy days or the war to any children we may ever care for, even if they are Petra’s who will themselves one day have great responsibilities. It is not that I wish for our deeds to be forgotten, although I know that you are comfortable with the thought. It is that I do not wish for our deeds to be taken out of context and glorified like the high tales. 

    For as time passes, that is how we may be memorialised whether we like it or not. You will fulfil the new functions that Edelgard and we require of you as will I. I believe that Edelgard seeks her retirement both selfishly and selflessly. If part of her life can be passed in obscurity, it will allow Fódlan to bloom beyond the need for an Emperor. She needs us to meet our changing roles head-on and behind the scenes just as we have served her through the war and to now.

    To do this, I need you, too. I need you as we are, and I need you to change with me. Not the same, of course, for you and I are very different people, but we must change adjacent to each other. We must keep each other in check. We both have tempers and a taste for revenge, and we revel in violence too much for a peaceful world to continue to stomach. Only you and I understand this intimate part of each other, and only we can keep us honest. 

    I love you, Hubert, and I want you by my side in all the ways that those words imply.

    Love,  
Ferdinand

As all things have been in Hubert’s life, it is Edelgard who suggests the solution. 

“You should write to Ferdinand during his travels,” she says as Hubert pours her Bergamot at the tea table in the recently renovated northern conservatory. “He is a keen writer and reader, and I know he is thrilled to receive personal communications. It would make him very happy to hear from you regularly, and it isn’t as if we need to worry about such personal communication as we once did.” 

Hubert sets the pot back upon the table and covers it with the tea cosy. Bernadetta had gifted the cosy to Edelgard for winter solstice, and it is embroidered with yellow and red carnations. Since receiving it, Edelgard has taken the cosy everywhere, including to tea parties with heads of the local merchant guilds. No one has dared to comment, and Hubert is a little concerned about how Edelgard will react when it inevitably becomes stained. 

“Alternatively,” Edelgard continues, lifting her cup and inhaling, “you could travel with him.” 

“No,” Hubert says immediately; he reaches for the coffee pot and begins to pour his own cup. “I am your Minister of the Imperial Household. None of my duties now lie outside of Enbarr.” 

Edelgard sips her tea. Her gaze is upon the easel that has been set up in the light from the windows. No paint has yet been applied because she is working on sketching the view of the greenhouse out of the window. Hubert thinks that the sketch looks very good and appropriately realistic, but Edelgard is not satisfied. She does not solicit his opinions because, as many of their friends are quick to remind them both, Hubert does not have an artistic eye. 

She also does not solicit Ferdinand’s opinions on her art because his artistic eye is too dramatic. His talents are better exercised in the performing arts where neither Edelgard nor Hubert excel. Singing and dancing and even flouncing about in the buff to enjoy the seashore and sunlight upon his skin: Hubert would call him perfect, if it wouldn’t inflate his ego so much. When it comes to the arts, Ferdinand is as insufferable as he ever was during their early academy days.

Across the table, Edelgard sets down her teacup. Hubert looks up from the contemplation of his coffee to find her lips curved into a smile. It is small and even and reaches her eyes.

“You are thinking about him.” 

Hubert frowns. He picks up his coffee cup and sips it. Swallows. The coffee is brewed very strongly, beginning to edge into acidic bitterness. Even Shamir dislikes coffee at this strength. Hubert is no longer certain if he likes it or if he has simply grown used to it. Ferdinand would take one whiff, wrinkle his nose, and then proceed to gaze at Hubert with doe eyes until he stopped drinking it. 

“I do not want him to be unhappy,” Hubert says, returning his cup to his saucer. “He told me in his letter that he wants me by his side.” 

“I do not think you need to spend all of your days here in Enbarr,” Edelgard says, reaching for a lemon biscuit. “You do not dislike traveling, unlike me, who not so secretly finds it all to be quite troublesome.” 

Hubert opens his mouth. Closes it. Edelgard is, of course, completely correct. He looks down into the dark liquid of his coffee. 

Across from him, Edelgard bites into her biscuit. She hums, approving. 

“These are Ferdinand’s, aren’t they?” 

Hubert looks up. Edelgard inspects the interior of the biscuit, which has a pocket of sticky, almost caramelised curd. It will be too sour for Hubert’s liking because Ferdinand does not sugar the curd and uses the money saved to get the strongly flavoured lemons bred from grafting Almyran lemon branches onto Fódlan trees. Hubert has overseen some of the grating process as it has many similarities to things he learned from Those Who Slithered in the Dark. 

To bring those horrible techniques into the light of day and repurpose them for good: 

“Do you like them?”

“I think this is one of the best he has ever made,” Edelgard says and puts the rest of the biscuit into her mouth with pleasured _mhm!_

This is, in completeness, what Hubert lives to see. 

_Letter from Marquis Hubert von Vestra to Duke Ferdinand von Aegir, dated 29 Great Tree Moon 1190:_

    My Ferdinand,

    I wanted to put this in writing, just as I wish you the happiest of birthdays. As you know, I have taken your letter and the words that have been exchanged between you and I and our friends to great consideration and thought over the past few weeks. I have decided, after ruminating upon your discussion of memory and memorial, that I want to tell you a story. 

    When I was four or five years old, I wished to become a pegasus rider. At the time, I already knew that those beasts do not take someone like me. It was not my first rejection nor childish whim quashed, but I could not shake it. The desire and its associated envy and adoration in equal parts remains. 

    In this manner, I have changed very little. I view all of what I hold in my heart in much the same way, simply with different intensities. You are, of course, unique, and all those despicable emotions and contradictions become more apparent when I examine them in relation to us. I am possessive of you because of how I feel, and I am dependent upon you for my feelings. 

    Because of this, there is nothing I can deny you. Equally, I would do everything I have already done and more for you—even if you do not ask. I know you understand this about me, and it is why you allow me to stand (or sit or lay) vigil over you. Edelgard is my Emperor and my purpose, but you, Ferdinand, are my heart and soul. You are my God.

    So, I will do good by my faith. I will follow you forth from Enbarr if you wish me to, and I will learn to find new purposes as you urge me. My duty is to my Emperor, and my faith is to you, my Ferdinand. I trust you. 

    I love you. 

    In all ways, past, present, and future,  
Hubert

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to connect with on Twitter [@Metallic_Sweet](https://twitter.com/Metallic_Sweet).


End file.
